Author Note: This installment is a bit short, but the last two were both quite a bit longer than usual, so it all averages out. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing.
The Third Day - Part 1
Slinging his satchel on his back, Harry grasped Beaton's outstretched hand and closed his eyes, focusing on the dark and vile smelling room that had long been Snape's domain. He felt strong pressure on his entire body as his ribcage squeezed the breath out of his lungs. Beaton pressed her nails so deeply into the palm of his hand that he knew he'd be bruised for days. Just as Harry began to feel the pricks of unconsciousness jabbing behind his eyes, the pressure released, Beaton dropped his hand, and he fell to the floor in Slughorn's classroom.
Shaking his head and gasping in lungfuls of air, Harry stood and searched around the room. Heavy fumes from a dozen bubbling cauldrons filled the air. Slughorn himself was in the far corner, bent over a large vessel that was spitting out a putrid green vapour.
"Professor Slughorn," Harry called out. "I'm back. The Malfoy house elf apparated me back."
"My, my, my boy," Slughorn said, coming forward. "Did you find the knife? Where are Krum and Malfoy? And who is this elf?"
"This is Beaton, professor. No time to explain." Harry picked up his pack and drew out the leaden case. "We had to go to Malfoy Manor to get it, but we found it. Draco was hurt but he should be OK. Viktor is with him." Harry held out the casket. "We're pretty sure it's Slytherin's knife. It has the same markings."
Slughorn recoiled as Harry tried to hand him the box, so he set it down on the closest desk. "Do you have gloves?" he asked. "Do you want to borrow mine?" Harry couldn't wait any more. He needed answers now. He had to know.
"Yes, yes," Slughorn replied, pulling out a pair of elbow-length dragon hide gloves from his desk and putting them on.
Harry opened the box. "There it is. That's Bellatrix' knife-the one she used on Hermione. The one she threw at Dobby."
Slughorn picked up the casket almost reverently, laying it in his left hand and stroking the knife with his right, running his gloved fingers caressingly over the tip of the blade, and tracing the initials on the haft.
"Slytherin's knife," he said, his eyes huge.
"So what does that mean? What do we do now?"
"What does it mean?" Slughorn repeated mechanically, in a trance that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.
"Professor. Professor," Harry said insistently, grabbing both of Slughorn's arms. "Look at me." Slughorn's eyes traveled slowly up to meet Harry's fierce gaze. Slughorn shook his head sharply and closed the box.
"What it means is that the knife can be spelled with the most deadly poisons and curses, that the merest pinprick can kill. And what we do now is find out which potion Bellatrix used-and find the antidote."
"But the elixir-doesn't that cure everything? And Hermione has been perfectly fine-for weeks now," Harry insisted.
"She was but…she is not well now, Harry," Slughorn said gently. "And the elixir cures illness. It may not combat Dark Magic like this."
"So you have to make an antidote-some kind of potion?"
"Yes, exactly. And for that I'll need help."
Slughorn walked to the side of the room and threw a handful of powder into the fireplace, which immediately flamed a brilliant emerald green. "Minerva," he called. "Harry's back. With the knife. It's what we thought. Can you come right away-and bring Professor Sprout."
"I'll be right there," came McGonagall's quick reply.
"I want to see Hermione," Harry said. "I won't wake her. I just want to see her."
"Go ahead, Harry. She's still in the infirmary. You can take Beaton to the kitchen on your way-Kreacher and the others will sort her out for tonight," Slughorn added. "And tell Madam Pomfrey I said you could stay in the infirmary. Try to get some sleep. It will take us most of the night to strip away the protections on the knife and find the curse or poison embedded in the blade."
"You'll wake me up as soon as you find out anything." It was a command, not a request.
"Yes, Harry. You have my word."
Harry pushed open the door of the infirmary just as the clock struck one. Lavender had apparently left some time during the day because Hermione's bed, at the far end, was the only one occupied. Madam Pomfrey sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, dozing quietly. The screen around the bed had been removed, so he could see Hermione clearly, sound asleep on her back, with one arm dangling off the side.
Harry crossed the room quickly and dropped his pack on the neighboring bed. As quietly as he could he clasped Hermione's outstretched hand in both of his. He almost dropped it in astonishment-it was as cold as ice, colder even than when she had been petrified back in second year. Instinctively he brought it to his lips, blew on it and kissed it, then tucked it securely under the covers.
He glanced at Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to be in a deep sleep, her head leaning forward and her chin resting comfortably on her chest. Could he risk it?
Harry looked back at Hermione, her brown skin now white and almost translucent in the moonlight that streamed through the window. "I love you, Hermione," he whispered. "So much." Then, remembering all the times she had hugged him or kissed him, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead.
Her face was cold, inexplicably cold, and as he looked around the room for another blanket he noticed that the fire in the huge stone fireplace had almost gone out. He walked over and reached for the poker to stir the embers, but before he could grasp it the fire blazed up with a fierce roar, pushing a wave of hot air into the room.
Madam Pomfrey stirred, shook her head, and gave out a small shriek when her eyes focused on Harry. "Mr. Potter, you're here! When did you get back? Did you find the knife?"
"Yes, we found it. But what about Hermione? Why is she so cold? Is she getting better?"
"It's too early to tell," Madam Pomfrey said carefully. "Remember that the Elixir must be applied for three nights, and this is only the second night."
Harry did not know how much Madam Pomfrey knew about Slytherin's knife, so he asked no more questions. The answers to Hermione's illness lay in Slughorn's hands now and for that he would have to wait.
"Professor Slughorn said I could kip here tonight. Is this OK?" he asked, motioning to the bed where he'd put his backpack.
"Yes, certainly. Do you have everything you need?"
"Yes, thanks. Professor Slughorn said he'd come and get me as soon as he knew anything."
After he crawled into the narrow cot Harry watched Hermione as long as he could, but eventually he lost the struggle to
keep his eyes open, and exhaustion claimed him once again.
Harry watched the unicorn moving ever more deeply into the forest, followed closely by the stag, who had to twist and turn to avoid getting its antlers caught in the branches overhead. The dense foliage shut out the sun almost completely, but the unicorn never hesitated as it drove through the forest, sure of the way to its destination. Finally it reached a small circular clearing. Here the sun shone strongly through the canopy of branches, dappling the ground below. The unicorn stopped and turned, waiting for the stag to join it. The animals faced each other, lowering their heads in salute. The stag raised its right hoof and the unicorn seemed poised to raise its own in answer. Harry sensed a faint whirring in the air near his left ear just before a black arrow found its mark in the unicorn's neck. The unicorn shuddered and fell to the ground, blood falling in a thin trickle from its neck. Harry tried to rush forward to help the fallen animal but unseen hands gripped him firmly and held him back.
"Mr. Potter. Harry. Wake up." Through unfocused eyes Harry made out the fuzzy shape of Madam Pomfrey, who was shaking him vigorously. He grabbed his glasses from the table next to his bed.
"What is it? What time is it?"
"It's about four o'clock but Professor Slughorn just flooed to say they've solved the mystery of the knife. You are to go to the Potions classroom immediately."
Harry had slept in his clothes so after pulling on his trainers he was on his way to the hall, glancing back just once to see that Hermione was still sleeping, both arms safely tucked under the covers.
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